


but always in tandem

by youcouldmakealife



Series: but always in tandem [45]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 05:10:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11707473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “Have you seen Georgie yet?” Saul asks.“Day after tomorrow,” Robbie says.“How are you feeling about that?” Saul asks.“I don’t know,” Robbie says, and Saul, as per usual, waits him out. “Okay about it, really. I figured out a replacement handshake and everything.”“That’s good, Robbie,” Saul says.“Yeah,” Robbie says. “I think so too.”





	but always in tandem

The rest of the summer goes by pretty fast. Robbie’s not sure if he’s grateful for that or not. You’d think it would drag, considering he’s not doing all that much of anything: he ends up home in time for dinner, most nights, when he doesn’t grab dinner with any of the guys he’s training with or have an evening session with Saul. Training helps. Well, obviously training helps, it’s the whole point of training, but it’s a welcome distraction — it’s hard to focus on anything but your body when it’s screaming at you to fucking _chill_. Robbie’s never pushed himself harder, keeps going to the edge but never further, because Pete’s good at recognizing where that edge is and making Robbie back off when he’s about to go past it.

He’s gaining muscle faster than he’s ever been able to before, doesn’t know whether that’s his body finally being nice — never was nice enough for just an inch or two more of height, so at least it’s doing _something_ — or if it’s the intensity, or if it’s how fucking skinny he was at the end of the season, between the hard ride of playoffs and the fact his appetite was in direct opposition with the amount of calories he needed to mainline to avoid losing weight.

 _washboard abs baby_ , Robbie sends Matty, along with possibly the first selfie he’s ever taken of his abs, unlike some of the narcissists he knows. They’re far from it, honestly, and there are a number of guys on the team way more cut than him, but it’s the closest he’s ever gotten. 

_I got fat :(_ , Matty texts back, along with a picture of the tiniest paunch Robbie’s ever seen in his life, the skin of his stomach winter pale, his arms burnt to shit.

 _farmer’s tan fail_ , Robbie texts.

 _I know :( :(_ , Matty texts back, and then schedules a Skype date for that night so Robbie can make fun of him to his very burnt face.

*

Robbie doesn’t hear from Georgie. That’s probably a good thing, and it’s definitely in the spirit of what they talked about, but he keeps getting these moments where he wants to pull out his phone, let him know about the stupid shit Braden said, or tell him his ma made manicotti, which was Georgie’s favorite, or complain about how Saul can get like a dog with a bone, because Georgie’s the only one other than his ma that knows he’s seeing him. 

He doesn’t send anything. He tells Braden the shit he said was stupid, and he savors the manicotti, even though it’s never been his fave, and he complains about Saul to his ma, though she’s unsympathetic. He wonders if Georgie has those moments too, thinks he probably does, but Georgie’s text chain sinks lower and lower, Braden and Wheels and Matty and Crane and Chaps and Cap Q and even Volkie overtaking him. That’s for the best. Robbie knows it is. He just keeps checking to see if that changes, if Georgie’s sent _I managed to get traded_ , or even just _How’re you doing?_ , and he never has.

Every morning while he’s eating breakfast, Robbie looks up the recent transactions, heart clenching when he sees the Caps logo. And it comes up a few times, thankfully none of his friends, but still dudes he likes leaving, dudes he doesn’t know coming in. Business. Georgie’s name never shows up, which isn’t really a surprise. He wasn’t wrong about the cap situation: the flipside of having a boss rookie class is the fact they all get a whole lot more money when the entry level contracts expire. If they hadn’t made a deal with Crane last season, Robbie doesn’t know what Rutledge would have done. Wheels is decently cheap, and Robbie was willing to sign for less than his absolute worth. Matty was too, though he got quite the fucking payday anyway, because he’s boss. Also pretty rich now. Drinks are on him the next time they go out. 

He never gets that text from Georgie saying he was traded, and the transactions peter out as July fades into August, and Robbie accepts that Georgie isn’t leaving, not even bothering to pretend to himself that he isn’t relieved.

*

August practically sprints towards September, and Robbie starts packing for training camp. The Caps group chat blows up as they make their way back to Washington one by one, and Robbie adds to it himself after the long drive in, slows down in front of Matty and Wheels’ place and takes a picture of their two cars in the driveway, adds it along with a _mind if I swing by for dinner?_

 _Stalker_ , Wheels replies in the group chat, then texts Robbie a minute later with, _I’m making salmon_ , so Robbie’s got dinner covered.

His place isn’t exactly welcoming. It’s clean, at least, because his housekeeper came by after he left, but it feels kind of bare in a way he doesn’t remember it feeling, at least before last spring. He was a little afraid it’d throw all the Georgie shit in his face — here’s the bed you fucked him in, here’s the living room he ended things, but thankfully it isn’t more than a pang. Pangs Robbie can deal with. Robbie’s used to pangs.

Still, he doesn’t feel like lingering, only gets his stuff half unpacked before he feels the need to get out of there. He needs to go grocery shopping, but after over seven hours in a car, he’s not getting back in it, instead takes the short walk to Matty and Wheels’.

Lauren answers the door, giving him a quick hug before yelling for Matty, who literally runs in from the living room, grabbing Robbie in a bear hug while Lauren laughs at them.

“I missed you,” Matty says as Robbie buries his face in his neck, and Robbie hugs him tighter.

“I think you’re suffocating me,” Matty says, way too even for someone who is supposedly being suffocated.

“Take it,” Robbie says, and doesn’t loosen his grip at all.

“I feel like we’re interrupting something,” Wheels says, presumably to Lauren, and Robbie reluctantly stops suffocating Matty to give him a hug too.

“Salmon, you said?” Robbie asks.

“You’re a vulture,” Wheels says. “You’re lucky I got four fillets.”

Dinner’s predictably awesome, because it’s Wheels. They watch Masterchef after, which Robbie guesses isn’t the worst of the reality shows they could make him watch, and he’s too full and tired to think about heading out, never mind that he’s not exactly enthused about the idea of going home. He puts it off until Matty starts making noises about him staying over if he wants, because bare or not, his bed’s a whole lot more comfortable to sleep on than that couch.

He falls asleep practically the moment he hits the bed, and in the morning there’s only a split second where he doesn’t remember where he is.

*

He has a session that morning with a therapist Saul referred him to, and the guy seems okay enough, doesn’t do anything that gets Robbie’s hackles up, mostly just listens, pen scratching against paper. Robbie always wonders what the notes about him say. 

Robbie feels okay after the session, but not great or anything, kind of tired. He ends up opting for grocery delivery instead of going out, vegs on his couch, calls his ma. Two days until training camp and he’s letting this one burn away, which makes him feel guilty, but not enough to do anything about it.

“You weren’t comfortable with me either, after one session,” Saul says that evening. He’s agreed to weekly Skype sessions, and it’s weird, seeing Saul’s face and feeling relieved, like Robbie’s seeing a friend after a long absence. Robbie saw the dude four days ago, he should not be this happy to talk to him. “Give it a few sessions before you make up your mind.”

“I mean, I’m not planning on quitting on him or anything,” Robbie says. “He’s just not. I don’t know. I feel okay, you know? It’s weird going to a therapist when I feel okay. Like, ‘here, let me tell you about all the shit that fucked me up a few months ago but I think I’m dealing with right now’.”

“Have you seen Georgie yet?” Saul asks. 

Point taken, Dr. Berkowitz. Asshole.

“Day after tomorrow,” Robbie says. 

“How are you feeling about that?” Saul asks.

“I don’t know,” Robbie says, and Saul, as per usual, waits him out. “Okay about it, really. I figured out a replacement handshake and everything.”

“That’s good, Robbie,” Saul says.

“Yeah,” Robbie says. “I think so too.”

*

Robbie wasn’t lying, he did feel okay about it, at least when he talked to Saul, but the night before training camp starts he has a hard fucking time sleeping, stomach twisting itself up in knots. He shows up sleep deprived and almost late, the room bustling with guys he knows from the Caps, from the Bears, some newbies, either by draft or trade or signing. The same cheerful hubbub it always is, first day, Robbie getting half a dozen hugs before he’s even three feet in the door, a hair ruffle from Cap Q, a slap on the head from Craney, even though he didn’t even _do_ anything yet.

Georgie’s kind of off to a corner, which is weird. Or like, it would have been weird for college Georgie. Robbie guesses it’s not that weird for Georgie now, Georgie on the Caps. Robbie still gets that feeling of being gut punched when he sees him. He doesn’t know when it’ll go away. He wishes there was a timeline for that, that Saul could say “In two months it won’t hurt you to look at him”, so that Robbie knew how much more of it he’d have to endure. Even a ‘one day’ would help.

Robbie slowly makes his way over, getting waylaid a few times by hugs, back slaps. He feels Georgie’s attention throughout, knows if he looked over, Georgie would be looking back. “George,” Robbie says, when he gets within speaking distance.

Georgie’s mouth tips up a bit. “Roberto.”

Robbie holds out a hand, waits for Georgie to take it, and Quincy gives him another hair ruffle a few minutes later, one that feels like approval.

*

The two of them fucking rock training camp separately, but especially together. All the D pairings get rotated, every combination tried out, and Robbie plays well with Wheels, as usual, plays pretty good with a guy trying to crack out of the AHL, is doing well enough Robbie thinks he’ll be their seventh D. Plays fucking great with Georgie, as always, and it’s pretty clear they’re going to stay paired together for five-on-five, that nothing from last season is going to change.

There’s still some of that bile in him that he doesn’t think is going away any time soon, shows up when he sees Georgie getting chummy with one of the guys who got traded to the Caps over the summer, when he claps a hand over Chaps’ shoulder, when Quincy slaps him on the back. A feeling that Georgie shouldn’t be here, that Robbie doesn’t want him here, warring still with the part of Robbie that’s glad he is, but wants more than that, wants it back the way it was, maybe the days when they crammed themselves into a single bed, when Robbie couldn’t make himself stop touching Georgie, and Georgie never asked him to, but maybe before that, when Georgie was the most important person in his life but he wasn’t his _life_.

They talk, on the ice, in the room, mostly hockey, but not only — Georgie gives him a Dineen update while they’re waiting for their turn in the shootout, asks after Robbie’s parents. It’s not comfortable, but it’s not _uncomfortable_ , and it’s only during team time, Georgie slotting in with a other guys Robbie has no problem chatting with but never really sees outside of team stuff. It’s what he wanted. It’s what he asked for. He wishes it was more satisfying, but it is what it is. 

*

When the cuts start happening Robbie doesn’t feel even remotely worried for the first time in his career, and doesn’t need to be. Their first exhibition game, him and Georgie are playing top-pairing, all of the first line sitting this one out, giving the guys on the bubble a chance to show their stuff, to win their spot. 

Now that the roster’s been shrunk from gigantic to just a little bigger than it’ll end up being, Robbie’s got his stall back. Georgie’s not beside him anymore, has a stall across the room, where Gibson sat last season, and Robbie doesn’t know if he asked for it or if it’s just a coincidence, but he’s thankful for it. He’s got a rookie beside him who was a freaking wunderkid in training camp, and he keeps his head down and his chin up, he’s going to be sticking around. He’s quiet, like Chaps quiet, and Robbie kind of appreciates it, the serious stillness, though he goes over to bug Wheels after awhile, just to keep him on his toes.

Before they get on the ice, Georgie comes over, shoulder brushing Robbie’s. “Figure out the handshake?” he asks.

“What do you take me for?” Robbie asks, then holds out his hand. “Now you take it,” he says, and after Georgie’s done that, “Come on, you’ve never shaken a hand before, Georgie?”

“No explosions?” Georgie asks, after Robbie’s coached him through the quick handshake-fistbump-low five.

“No explosions,” Robbie says. 

“Probably for the best,” Georgie says. “Show me again?”

“Pay attention this time,” Robbie says, and the second time Georgie seems to get it.

Robbie looks back over at the rag-tag bunch of Caps and potential Caps. Looks at the two guys who’ve never played an NHL game before, exhibition included, who look nervous, some of the guys fighting not to get sent down to the Bears again looking grim. For Robbie, the game’s little more than practice, getting a chance to shake some of the rust off, but for these guys it’s their chance to prove themselves, maybe the only one they’ll have all season. It’s not something he misses, that feeling, the insecurity of it. 

With Q and the As getting a night off, Robbie feels like he’s personally responsible for morale, claps his hands around his mouth and channels his best Cap Q. “Here we fucking go, boys,” he shouts as they make their way down the tunnel, and in the chorus of response, he almost misses Georgie’s, “Here we fucking go”, murmured beside him.

**Author's Note:**

> And here we leave Robbie. Chances are very, very high I'll be revisiting him in the future, but for now he'll be navigating on his own.


End file.
